The subconscious mind has a funny way of telling you things. And hurting you.
Her skin was pale and she had the same wavy, golden hair as me. She was slight with tiny fairy like features. I probably just imagined the way she looked, though. I was five years old and through big brown eyes I watched her disappear like she was turning into dust.
In the dream my dad got angry a lot. He'd yell at me and tell me it was my fault she left us. I still got everything I wanted, though, we still appeared picture perfect like any other of the Socs. But I became the poor little girl whose mom died. They didn't know the whole story.
My weird dream takes me to high school, right when my dad started to go crazy. Cans of bear were always in the fridge, but still he kept up the façade of perfection. The dream turns red and hazy and I hear him scream and swear at me to be perfect.
Then the crazy old man dies. It was a shock to everyone except me, but mostly they were surprised because they found out that he had outstanding debts to pay. No money was left for his 'poor, misguided daughter'. No one was ever close to me, so there was no one I could turn to. I watch myself get thrown into the world of the greasers where I learn to live and work. But I'm still on the outside. Never a Soc, never a greaser.
I must have banged my head pretty hard last night after all the strange dreams I had. My head and the rest of my body throbs, worse than yesterday if that were possible, when I see that I'm curled up on a corner of a couch within a foot of a greaser. Something about him looks really familiar, like I've seen him before. He's watching T.V. and doesn't notice me. That's good. I've never really enjoy talking people, though I can. I've always been able to detect what people want to hear, so overall I get on their good side.
The greaser gets up during the commercial probably to get a new can of beer after he chugged down his last one. I can get out now. I want to stay and thank the greaser that saved me, hopefully I have some money to give them for all they did. There is another reason I want to get out. I don't know why, but a I feel like a caged animal whenever I'm in someone else's house. Maybe it's because I don't like to be a burden. Or it could be that I just don't like to be very social.
I take this opportunity to try to quietly get out of the house. I get up out of the couch but then I feel a sharp, cutting pain in my leg. I tumble onto the floor in a heap, realizing I can barely walk on my leg.
Then the greaser walks back in with a beer can in his hand. "Hey, what's the hurry? I don't bite. Unless you want me to." He grins and raises his eyebrows impishly. I can tell he's definitely a joker so I try to smile back. Right after I playfully toss a throw pillow at his head.
"Watch where you throw pillows, you almost ruined a master piece." He says in mock hurt. "Looks like your feeling better than last night." The greaser offers me a hand and assists me back onto the couch.
"Thanks."
"So what's your name?" I always hated telling my name. It sounded like a ten-cent romance novel name. Krystal Waters. What were my parents thinking?
"Kris. How 'bout you?" I usually didn't talk so casually, but I catch on to the slang people use very quickly.
"Two-Bit." That's a funny nick-name. For once everything is silent, but that just makes me feel even more uncomfortable. I have this nasty habit of smiling and babbling when I'm nervous.
"Can I ask you something?" I say.
"You just did. Fire away."
"What happened last night? And why didn't you just leave me there?" I inwardly cringe. I'm babbling again.
"We didn't leave you 'cause you're just too pretty." He says jokingly. Then his demeanor turns serious. "And nothing you want to remember happened last night."
Now I feel stuck and awkward again. "This your place?"
"Naw. I just crash on the couch, except on the rare occasion that someone steals my spot. Like you." He flashes a smile. "Darry, do you remember him? He was the big guy with the muscles. Well he lets me hang here. His two kid brothers live here, too. The whole gang stays here whenever they want to, though."
Darry has to be the one I saw last. He was the one with the kind eyes. I wish I could stay to thank, but I want to get to my dingy apartment that I consider home. I'll just drop some money by later as a thank you gift.
"That's awful nice of him, letting everyone stay here. And fixing me up and letting me stay here for the night. Gosh, I would be dead if it wasn't for you guys. Thank-you. I really mean it."
"It's not you fault some dirty Soc is going around beating up girls. Heck, it's none of our faults that Socs have the easy life so they hurt people for fun." His voice takes on a cutting tone and hatred almost radiates from him. I bite my tongue. I have mixed feelings on the never-ending greaser vs. Soc situation. I was a Soc. But I never really considered myself a part of them. Sure , I had the money, but it wasn't me. I was only good at pretending. It seems that sometimes I spend my whole life pretending.
"Yeah, you're right." I effortlessly lie. I didn't agree with him at all, not that I would say that.
It turns out that Two-Bit is great company when you're bored and can't go anywhere. He just chatters on and on, so I just sit back and listen. It's almost relaxing. Almost.
"Hey, Two-Bit."
"Yup."
"I'm going to try walking on my sore leg. Could you help me up?" I hold on to Two-Bit's arm and shakily I stand. I can barely put pressure on my right leg, but my left seems fine. It feel like my chest is about to cave in, though. I sigh in relief. At least I can walk. If I wasn't able to walk, I couldn't work at the Stop 'n Shop, and then I'd be forced to live on the streets. I wasn't about to let that happen. Today was Saturday, so I had the day off at least.
"Thanks again. And tell Darry and the others that I owe them. Here's my number- call if you need anything." I write my number down on the back of a receipt and hand it to him.
"Remember 'ole Two-Bit if you're feeling lonely tonight." He says and winks. I just laugh.
"Bye, Two-Bit." I'm able to limp back to my apartment with not much trouble, but going up the stairs is hard. I cling to the hand rail and after lots of effort, I make it. The door to my apartment is unlocked like always, so I walk right in. It's barely two-rooms with a closet-sized bedroom and a kitchen-living room area when you walk in. There's a doll-house sized bathroom right off my bedroom, but it feels like a cave.
"Home, sweet home." I mumble, flinging myself onto my bed. I kick off my shoes, not caring where they land, and shove my head into my pillow. Don't cry, I tell myself. It's easy to fall into self pity when you're alone. I promised myself I would never wallow again because it's just too hard to stop.
I don't have parents or friends. My only family is my good-for-nothing uncle who got all my lousy dad's money. But I have a job, a 'home', and my life. Well, just barely, but I still have my life. I will make something of myself. I just don't know what yet.
AN: Thanks to my reviewers! There wouldn't be a chapter 2 without you. The plot is going to pick up pretty soon, but I wanted you to get to know Kris a little more first. I hope Two-Bit was in character (he was so fun to write!). I thought he would be kind of funny guy, flirty personality. Please review, and thanks!